


a common space

by Renalia



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Bar, Drama, M/M, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renalia/pseuds/Renalia
Summary: UMY, I thought Turps needed some love in the UMY universe...then I basically forgot I'd written all this for about 2 years. So here are a few fragments of a much larger story of Turps owning a magic pub.





	1. Chapter 1

Trott usually had a good idea of what would be on the other side of his front door when he opened it. It was one of three things: the pizza guy; a court member or potential court member; or someone dropping off bowling stuff for Sips.

He was surprised when he opened the door to, what appeared at first glance, a floating lasagna. A second look showed that a kneeling man was holding it aloft, his head down turned to stare at the carpet.

“Can I help you?” Trott heard the bewilderment in his own voice.

The man looked up to reveal an infectious smile and a bushy beard.  
“Is this the residence of the Garbage court?”

“Depends who’s asking.” Trott’s mind worked in overdrive as he felt for a magical aura, not finding one he asked, “What’s your business?”

“I am the one they call Turps, I have brought a gift of my own free will as an offering,” he jiggled the lasagna slightly, “in the hope we could discuss a trade, a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Trott carefully removed the lasagna from Turps’ grasp. It smelled and looked like lasagna, he far as he could tell there was no magical ingredients or curses on it.

“Did you make it yourself?”

“Of course! Using only the finest ingredients sourced locally,” he winked, “the supermarket just across the road from my house.”

Trott held Turps’ gaze, looking for twitches or flickers that would indicate charm magic or concealments. “I accept your offering. Why don’t you join us for dinner?” He stepped back from the door, Turps clumsily stood on stiff legs and stumbled through.

 

“Guest for dinner, his treat!” Trott called, the promise of food alway encouraged everyone to make an appearance.

“It better be good because Ross was gonna make shepherds pie, and that’s practically an orgasm in your mouth.” Sips’ was sprawled across his favourite armchair, eyes unmoving from the ‘Homes under the hammer’ re-run playing silently on the TV.

“His majesty, our wonderful garbage court king, Sips,” Trott introduced dryly, “This is Turps, bringer of lasagna.”

“My liege,” Turps once again fell to his knees, this time in front of Sips armchair-cum-throne, “forgive this mere human’s informality, I do not completely know your ways.”

“Eh, I don’t either, I think it’s mostly shit they make up to annoy me. None of that mere human crap either, that’s where I started now look at me, pants-less on a Tuesday, I’m living the dream.” Sips gestured to his bowling ball boxers to emphasise his point. 

Turps looked blankly at him, unsure how to respond, before starting suddenly. He fell backwards onto his bum as a stony tail snaked out from the other side of the arm chair to wrap around Sips’ ankle. Sips shook it off,

"I need to go to the kitchen, you’ll trip me up again.”

Turps marvelled as as a gargoyle poked it’s head over the arm rest that was supporting Sips’ legs, pouting at the king. 

“But, how am I suppose to know when you’ve left if I can’t feel you leaving?”

“I’ll make sure to inform you of all my movements in the future, but for now I’m starving.”  
He winked and used Ross’ head to stand up, the gargoyle scrambling to stand and walk after him. The gargoyle was practically glued to his side the entire way to the kitchen.

“Come on Turps, lasagna’s getting cold.”

 

Ross set the table, aided by a Smith who needed constant ‘reminders’ to not stare hungrily at their guest. After the third time he’d ‘accidentally’ brushed up against Turps, Trott had sat Smith down at the table. Trott raised his glass of apple juice once everyone had been served a plate of lasagna.

“To the health of the meal provider,” he caught Turps’ eye, “may his dealings be fair and his tongue honest.”

“Or we’ll eat him alive.” Smith shot Turps a ferocious grin, earning him a swift kick in the shins from Trott.

 

Turps let everyone dig in for a moment before getting straight to the point. “I own a pub.”

Smith instantly perked up, “What, like a nightclub?”

“No, a pub. Quiet music, beer on tap, spirits poured generously, creepy regulars in the corner.” Turps shrugged, “You can’t get rid of them, I’m pretty sure they come with the furniture.”

Trott eyed him suspiciously, Turps couldn’t help but feel like his eyes were looking right through him to the bone. “And in whose court does it lay, or do you pay your dues to?”

“None.”

Trott choked slightly on his pasta. “Impossible, the whole city is divided up.”

“My bar isn’t in the city.” Turps shrugged.

 

“Fuck me, I’m not about to wander out into the middle of nowhere for a pint.” Smith said, “I’d rather take my chances in one of the court controlled holes nearby.”

“Its in a pocket realm, technically accessible from anywhere with a door.” Turps gesticulated wildly, almost knocking over his glass as he mimed ‘pocket realm’. Ross moved the glass to save it from any further excitement.

“And where are these doors?” Trott put his fork down, ignoring his food. “These doors have to be on someones turf.”

 

Turps smirked, “Thats the beauty of it. I’m offering a door to everyone, well, everyone who agrees to abide by the rules anyway, completely neutral territory where everyone is welcome.”

“What kind of rules would you be enforcing?” Trott leaned back, arms crossed.

“Oh, nothing too drastic. No fae bullshit basically, no territory squabbling, allegiances left at the door, nothing you wouldn’t expect from neutral territory.”

Trott scoffed, “And why would anyone follow these rules? You’re mostly human, as far as I can tell anyway. I’ll give you a week before someone's taken you over and claimed the pub as their own territory.”

“Don’t you worry yourself, I have,” he paused, gesturing like he was trying to pull the word out of the air, “connections.” He settled on finally. “All I am here to do is ask you to host one of my doors, that's it. You get a little bit of money to compensate you for the increase traffic through your court and I get customers. I’ll even make one of your fae deal things to prove no ill will on my part.”

 

“Will you have trivia nights?” Trott blinked rapidly, breaking his stare into Turps’ soul to look at Sips.

 

“Trivia nights?” Turps broke out into a grin, “Of course we will, its not a pub without at least one trivia night a week. I’m even looking into getting a guy for karaoke but you would’t believe how difficult that is, did you know there isn’t a single fae karaoke business in the whole city?”

 

“Well thats just fuckin’ ridiculous, someone needs to fill the gap in the market.”

 

“Basic supply and demand right? I’ve been looking into non-fae alternatives but its not really worth the hassle and the travel fees.”

 

Trott rubbed his face with his right hand, “We’re going to have to talk it over as a court, but I feel our king is amenable to your idea.”

 

“Of course, I’ll be eagerly waiting your decision at your earliest convenience.” Turps stood, bowing to them all once again, narrowly missing the half eaten plate of lasagna still in front of him. “If you could kindly return the lasagna dish at the same time that’d be handy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically the first thing I wrote with Turps, after finishing this I immediately went back to right their first meeting

Trott raised a hand in greeting to the swamped barman as they entered the pub. Despite having near the whole bar vying for his attention Turps looked relaxed and in his element as he casually waved back. Ross and Smith raced to their usual table while Sips and Trott carefully threaded through the other patrons in the packed bar.

It wasn’t unusual for the bar to be busy, Turps’ bar was one of the few truely neutral places left in the city, a status Trott knew Turps worked hard to maintain in a city of ever changing allegiances; a bar which welcomed you with open arms and didn’t try to stab you in the back next week was a rare thing.

About a year ago Turps had appeared out of the blue and opened a bar, he had done the rounds to all the heads of court informing them that all were welcome but he wouldn’t tolerate ‘any of the usual fae bullshit’.  
It was nice to have a place outside of their home where they could relax and not have to worry about pissing people off on their turf or scaring humans. It helped that Turps and Sips and almost instantly bonded over their shared human-ness and love of bowling. 

It still amazed Trott that Turps was pure human, the man was charismatic enough that Trott had instantly pegged him as some sort of fae, or at least someone skilled with charm magic. Somehow it was all natural, the man just had a talent when it came to dealing with fae. Trott knew half a dozen fae, just off the top of his head, that owed Turps a debt. The man never asked for it or offered to do things in exchange for one but he had racked up quite a number in the short time he’d been in business. As far as Trott knew he’d never collected on one for his own benefit, only ever to help someone else, the man just seemed to genuinely love to help people out. 

Trott sat gratefully down at the table, glad to be off his feet for the first time that day. It was all well and good for Sips and Smith to want to start a business but when it came to the leg work it always seemed to fall to him to do all the running around and red tape for them.

 

“Turps is busy,” Smith leaned across the table to be heard over the background chatter, “wonder if Pyrion is on?”

 

“Looking to start something?” Trott cracked his neck, “ ‘Cause I was really looking forward to an evening where I don’t have stand between you and someone you’ve pissed off.”

 

“Ha, it’d be over before it started.”

 

"Yeah, cause he’d fuckin’ flatten you Smiffy,” Sips snorted, “remember there’s a whole dragon under all the skin and hair.”

 

Smith pouted and stood. Trott watched Smith strut away. Deciding that a walk like that could only lead to trouble he begrudgingly got up to follow him.

 

“Hello beautiful,” Smith leaned seductively on the bar, batting his eyelashes when Turps glanced his way.

 

“Fuck off Smith, you still owe me for that stool you smashed last week, so unless you can pony up the cash--“

 

“Same old pun every time,” Trott cut in, digging out his wallet to see if he had enough cash to cover Smiths debt, “aren’t you tired of it yet?”

 

“Same old king, aren’t you tired of him yet?” Turps planted his elbows on the bar, leaning into Trott’s face, “Get some fresh meat in, you’re ménage à trois could contain ménage à moi.” He wiggled an eyebrow, winked, and went to pour their usuals. 

 

“You wouldn’t survive it Sunshine,” Trott lifted his hand up to shield his mouth in mock confidentiality, he jerked a thumb at Smith, “He’s a horrific snorer.”

 

“Ah, always the pretty ones,” Turps opined sagely over Smith’s protests, “you break my heart again Trott. Take your pints away, I’ll need, oh, at least until the next round to put the pieces back together again.”

 

“Cheers mate.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the obligatory gritty hurt comfort stuff

The dimensional door felt heavier than usual as Trott pushed his way through it, squinting as he transitioned from the natural morning light to the harsh fluorescents of Turps’ bar. 

 

The bar was practically empty, one barstool was still occupied with a slumbering inhabitant from the night before. Turps hated kicking people out. Mainly, he had claimed, because he wasn’t sure where a dimensional door would take an unconscious person. Turps was not behind the bar, a rare enough sight in itself. He was instead replaced by his bouncer, Pyrion. 

The Dragon watched Trott as he approached the bar, his usual bored expression plaster across his face.  
“Turps around?” Trott pulled a stool from a nearby table up to the bar.

“Out the back doin’ some cleaning probably," The Dragon jerked a thumb behind him, "should I warn him you're 'ere?"

 

Trott shook his head, “Just looking for somewhere to clear my head, and a friendly ear when Turps has time to give me one.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll have some time for you Trotty, let me know if you need anything.” Pyrion vaulted the bar to help a recently awake patron to their feet and out of the bar.

 

Trott had fucked up. He was a fuck up. God, his family would be laughing now.  
_‘Oh I’m special Trott, I’m going to make a difference some day, I’ll talk with filthy land mammals.”_

Here was little Trott, fucking it up again. Not just for himself this time, no he couldn’t just take himself down with his mistakes anymore, he had to bring as many fucking people down with him too, because he couldn’t—

A hand clapped onto his shoulder, jolting him out of his depressive spiral.

 

“I’m sorry,” Turps pulled up a stool alongside,”I’ve heard what’s going on. Not all of it obviously, but the whispers are getting pretty loud.”

 

Trott dropped his head onto his arms, he didn’t need to see the sympathy in Turps’ eyes, to see just how sorry he was. He knew that’d be the straw that broke the camels back, the last barrier between the stress and the worry and the gut wrenching anxiety of the past few day that was threatening to burst out. 

 

“There’s nothing left to be done. I have no more favours. No more ideas.” The hysteria was leaking into his voice, he took a deep breath and forced it back down. “It’s my fault in the first place and I can’t fix it.”

 

Turps sighed, a broad warm hand started rubbing circles on Trott’s back.

 

“I know Sips won’t be blaming you. He said it many times, he was a dead man when he met you lot. You guys where his second chance, his borrowed time to show him how good it could all be. He loves you guys and knows you love him, that’s all that matters to him.”

 

Treacherous tears wet Trott’s forearms, tickling trails down to the bar top. He focused on the hand on his back, making slow, regular circles, and willing the tears to stop.

 

“And we both know Smith is loudest and most hurtful when he’s scarred and worried. He has a knack for knowing what will hurt most but not always the presences of mind not to say it.”

The tears turned to sobs as the memories were wrenched to the surface.  
__  
‘Useless, fucking useless Selkie.’  
‘This is what you wanted, you wanted to destroy me.’  
‘You don’t care about this family.’  


“Ross probably thinks that this is all his fault, that once again he wasn’t good enough, that he isn’t a proper guardian, that he’s the reason that his first real family is disintegrating.”

 

Trott had watched Ross’ heart break, his body was cracked and beaten but he moved around frantically, his eyes full of fear. Trott had been just as scared, screaming unanswerable questions to the gargoyle as he cowered and panicked. Suddenly his tension had dropped, like a marionette with its strings cut, his eyes dull and glassy, his tone flat as he told Trott that he didn’t know anything else. Trott had met his eyes and had been terrified by the lack of anything ‘Ross’ behind them.

 

“The only person blaming you Trott, is yourself. You think you made a mistake, that if you’d done something different then you’d all still be ok.”

 

Trott coughed, clearing his throat. “I must of,” he raised his head to make eye contact with Turps for the first time, his unfocused ones to Turps’ blue ones. “The horned bastard never should have gotten that close, I should have known he’d make a move then, I should have-“ he voice caught as the tears threatened to take over again. Turps made soothing noises as he pulled Trott off his bar stool and to the ground, hugging him into his lap with Trott’s face pressed into his shoulder. The tears started afresh, Turps ran his fingers soothingly through his hair.

“A great man once said, ‘It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not weakness; that is life.”

 

“But-“ Trott protested into Turps’ now incredibly damp hoodie.

 

“No. You know I must remain neutral is all fae matters, it helps no-one if some people are out of a safe place to drink because their lord or king thinks I’m biased. But having said that, this is Ki- the horned bastards fault and his alone. He is the one who changed the rules of engagement.”

 

Trott’s breathing calmed, the fight draining out of him as the bottled up emotions of the past few days lost their force.

 

“I know a few things that might help you out going forward, wisdom is a perk of being a frankly fantastic bartender.”

A tired half laugh huffed its way out of Trott.

 

“One: Sips would be very annoyed that you’re beating yourself up over him. Two: he’d also be annoyed that you’re not currently listening to some off-the-wall amazingly stupid idea that Smith or Ross have had to save him, that if you pull it off will make you all look like big god damn heroes.

 

He gently unwrapped the smaller man from around him to look into his eyes.

 

“And three: I know you. You’re the little train that could. You’re the little court of four who said ‘fuck you’ to thousands of years of fae tradition and lived to ask the community if they’d like another spanking.” He crooked a smile, “I believe that together you can make the horned bastard regret ever making you his enemy.”

 

Trott studied his face, not for the first time, looking like he was trying to understand Turps.

 

“I don’t know how you do that.”

 

“Do what?” Turps stretched, he firmly believed he was too old to sit on the floor and his body was agreeing with him.

 

“Make me feel so big and like a kid at the same time. You sure you’re just a human?”

 

Turps winked at him, his usual roguish smile creeping across his face.

 

“Probably because I look at everyone who comes in here as one of my kids. It's a Dad’s job to make you feel ready to take on the world.”

 

“That’s completely ridiculous.” Trott pulled himself up using the bar, offering Turps a hand up. “Most of the creatures in here must at least be two or three times your age, if not more.”

 

“My age is irrelevant, no one ever said your dad has to be older than you.”

 

Trott quirked an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ve got me there.”

 

“Now shoo, I believe you have some very important shit to attend to.”


End file.
